


Lessons of a Senior Disciple

by Watashi_wa_Okami



Series: Oneshots no one asked for [10]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Gintoki Shouldn't have to Fight Utsuro, Gintoki needs a hug, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Joui War, Katsura Doesn't Want Him To, Katsura tries, Katsura-Centric, Silver Soul Arc, Spoilers, War, attempt at comfort, hop on the angst train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28944633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watashi_wa_Okami/pseuds/Watashi_wa_Okami
Summary: Katsura vows to not let Gintoki fight Shouyou. But Gintoki knows better. Let alone the fact that he's the main character, there's no one else who could do it.
Relationships: Katsura Kotarou & Sakata Gintoki
Series: Oneshots no one asked for [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516460
Kudos: 34





	Lessons of a Senior Disciple

Long ago, years before they had ever known of Utsuro, Katsura made a promise (as did Takasugi, in his own way.) They swore that they'd never see Gintoki cry again. It was supposed to be an easy task; Gintoki hardly ever _truly_ cried. He had never before shown them a single crack in his façade in all their years as children and even through the war (it was hard to watch. For a long time, the men couldn't help but hate Gintoki for it, made it easier to think of him as a demon. He'd never corrected them and they couldn't see otherwise.)

Then they got captured. Then he was forced to make a choice. And he made the choice they knew he would and they wished he wouldn't.

Shouyou's blood had never run through their veins but it pumped in their hearts. Warm in the tenderness and love that he had shown them. It pushed them forward, held them to their convictions and they could never falter, not with their sensei behind them.

But with him in front of them, bound and equally helpless? That turned that blood to ice, sharp and so cold it burned underneath their skin.

And while it itched under their skin, it scalded Gintoki's. Thrumming in it's own acidity as Shouyou turned to face him, a smile on his lips, a _thank you_ trickling out. So genuine and sure of the choice Gintoki would make. As Takasugi howled, Katsura watched, both mortified and enraged but utterly _helpless._ (Years later, after waking up from the same nightmare at that cursed cliff, Katsura can't help but picture Gintoki. When he would startle awake at images he'd never explained.)

On that cliff, as that steady hand severed a head so cleanly, Katsura and Takasugi made an oath. They swore to never leave Gintoki so numb and broken, standing by himself and sagged under a weight he shouldn't bear.

But then they split up (they broke that promise, so soon.) They abandoned him knowing full well that he would wallow in those memories for all eternity.

If only they had helped him.

But they didn't, they couldn't. They could never claim to feel as he had, but it was close enough. While they'd watched Gintoki fracture into pieces, they couldn't hear it over the snapping of their own souls. They couldn't fathom his numb misery over their own crumbled convictions. They stared but they couldn't see past glistening tears and straw-like hair.

And afterwards, when everything was said and done. After the sword had fallen from Gintoki's numb hands and Katsura had mechanically wrapped Takasugi's head, they said nothing. Not a single word. They stood, the head in the middle yet none of them turned to face it.

The three had been abandoned by the heavens long ago. That trio, once unbreakable, unbendable, had snapped in such an audible fracturing that left them Silent and Broken in the aftermath, numb to all but their own misery.

They couldn't meet Gintoki's eyes; they couldn't unseen something that would forever be burned into their being.

They'd never hate Gintoki, they couldn't. But that didn't make things easier. That didn't mean they'd be able to comfort the man with familial touches and soft words. That didn't mean they could look at him without picturing that hollow happiness.

And so they left him.

(Katsura should have known, he should have seen the way Takasugi's gaze turned chilling in it's hatred. He should have watched how Gintoki sagged underneath a weight horribly foreign and yet not unexpected, like Atlas himself, and how he toed a line far too close to that cliffs edge. He _should have._ But he couldn't see past the blurred lines of reality, his mind couldn't stop spinning in the hopes of finding something new to live for.

(He found it, and in doing so he'd forgotten the ones he'd lived for in the first place.)

Katsura could never be sure what Takasugi must have felt the first time he ran into Gintoki. He'd heard about it, of course. Gintoki hadn't been the one to tell him but Katsura never expected him to. He'd been aware of Gengai's attack and learned of Takasugi's involvement himself. The only person who could have stopped him was Gintoki. It wasn't hard to figure it all out (but he still had questions, questions he'd never ask. About how Takasugi had seemed, if he was more or less crazy than he appeared, what they had said to each other. But, more than anything, he wanted to know what Takasugi had seen in those sullen eyes and what he had felt once he'd finally met that heavy gaze.)

Katsura had a few good guesses as to how it went. But more than the fight that had been brought about, he can imagine the chest-clenching anxiety Takasugi must have experienced before seeing Gintoki. Takasugi must have known he'd run into the man, he must have planned it all perfectly. Only, he must have also underestimated Gintoki, seeing the man living life as if he weren't struggling for a breath everyday.

He couldn't be sure what Takasugi had thought - Gintoki was always better at that - but Katsura could guess that Takasugi thought the man weak. Vulnerable.

That day he must have learned that was _not_ the case.

Katsura learned of such a thing as well, though he'd never thought for a second that Gintoki had grown weak and pliable. He counted on the man being unchanged. He knew Gintoki well enough, aware of his unpredictability but familiar enough with the man's core principles.

And his plan worked. Except, Katsura expected his anxieties to dissipate once he saw Gintoki. He didn't expect the man to have kids in tow.

They weren't his. That was clear as day, too old and too unlike him. But the girl bounced off him so easy and quick. Katsura could picture a different dynamic, so similar yet different. A trio that had been broken apart by the ideals he held now.

(He knows that isn't what did it. That Gintoki nor Takasugi had been in the war because of Katsura and his hopes, but it still stung. Dull and aching, a reminder of a past Katsura has been told to let go of.)

So Katsura doesn't move until he has to. And to _save_ them, no less.

But as he helped and turned to face Gintoki, the man froze. It wasn't something he did often, and especially not with enemies so close, but he couldn't help it. Katsura was _not_ supposed to be here. And he was, and while it all made sense that didn't mean Gintoki had to like it.

He had heard whispers of a joui patriot. One so noble and genuine in his cause. A cause not _against_ the amanto but _for_ the people of Japan. Gintoki knew it was Katsura, but to see him - to have _him_ deliver a bomb?

His jaw dropped.

_Zura?_

He'd been surprised - no, more than that. Katsura had seldom seen the man's face so open and utterly confused. At the mans presence in general but also at the help, as if he hadn't expected it let alone from _Katsura,_ of all people.

Katsura worked to enforce that he was indeed there, acting in a violent reassurance of their friendship. It worked and the permed idiot came back to reality in time for them to make their escape.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Katsura hadn't seen the darkness. He wasn't sure if that had to do with the kids or Gintoki's expert masking (probably the later.) He thought it'd be in their first interaction, but while Gintoki had been confused, the loss was missing. The pain buried too deep to detect even then. Even when the last place they had seen each other was days after that cliff, he didn't flinch.

Katsura knew it was only a matter of time. And when they reached the building, he finally saw it. Of course he'd caught it; he'd been looking for it. A flicker of darkness in those red eyes. Slight, minor, and it didn't help that Katsura was asking for Gintoki's sword once more.

He almost regretted it, almost. But to back down when given the chance was not how he worked. And, if anything, he wouldn't do it in front of his men.

It helped that Gintoki responded so perfectly, so cleanly.

And so deeply _hurt._ Not that anyone else had noticed, and how could they? The kids didn't even seem to know Gintoki had fought in the war. But Katsura had. Of course he had. He saw how Gintoki refused to meet his gaze, how he almost flinched at _Katsura_ calling him 'Shiroyasha.' Katsura saw how the man sagged in a miniscule movement and his gaze lowered at the prospect of fighting _again._ And again, and again.

Katsura refused to point out that Gintoki was not the sort of man who'd ever lay down his sword, it didn't seem right to spit that in his face. Not when he could so clearly hear those echoed words at that cliffs edge. How that man had only let them live because he'd fully expected that hollowness to destroy them. How wrong he was. Although, Katsura wished that weren't the case. He wished that, of all of them, Gintoki had abandoned the fighting.

Katsura supposed that if Gintoki didn't have those two kids, he might have said yes. But he did and Katsura had never been so happy for the man.

Time passed and Katsura watched Gintoki become surrounded by people. People who didn't think him a demon, people who didn't think him their tool. Just _people._ Friends, allies, a whole assortment of beings that thought of him as a lazy good-for-nothing with the biggest heart they'd ever find in a human being.

The demon side was just that, a side. And not one they would trade for the world. And so they lived and created a world of their own, one that they would defend with all their might. It didn't matter who they faced: the police, the Shogun, the Tendoshuu.

They had almost been fooled by the good that had surrounded the man, it was fog-like in it's ominous allure. Katsura could have been convinced that things would only go up from there (and he wanted it to, it _should_ have. The man had already been through so much, _too_ much. He didn't deserve any more pain.)

Then Utsuro came.

Katsura got an inkling that something had happened. When he learned what, however, _that_ was an entirely different monster. All of a sudden that old, stale, broken promise resurfaced. And for how badly it twisted his insides and left him nauseous and dizzy, Katsura vowed that Gintoki wouldn't fight Shouyou or Utsuro or whatever it was that took on that horrifyingly familiar face. Katsura swore that _he_ would fight in the man's stead. Because Gintoki shouldn't have to go through that. Not again.

He thinks it's a good idea. Except, when he says so to Gintoki, the man doesn't even laugh.

Gintoki just looks at him, eyes heavy (they have been ever since Utsuro showed himself.) He laughed lowly in a breathy exhale as he turned to face his old friend.

"You want to take on Utsuro?" His tone, typically so bland, raises in disbelief and he crosses his arms. But there's no smirk on his face. Katsura nods, noble and sure, and he keeps his eyes steady and his back straight.

"Yes, I would. You've," he breathes and breaks from Gintoki, turning to the setting sun, "you've already done more than enough, Gintoki. Now it's my turn." Gintoki has the audacity to _laugh._ Right in his face. It isn't the sort that Sakamoto would offer but it's no less amused.

"Zura," Gintoki sighs and relaxes his arms, letting one rest in his sleeve while the other hangs at his side. "You've always been too noble for your own good."

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura, and to be too noble I take as a compliment."

"You can't fight him." Katsura doesn't retort at first. He takes a moment to soak in the words, letting them roll around in ways he doesn't often, especially not with Gintoki. But right now, the man's so tired, so exhausted, eye bags heavy and shoulders slumped. He'd carried a burden that he'd perhaps only recently been relieved of, if only for a short while (Katsura will be eternally grateful to those kids for that much at _least._ They'd done more for the man than they'd ever know.) Gintoki doesn't even have the strength to brush everything off, he hadn't been acting like himself for a while, more of a pale imitation than anything. To muster the strength of casuality was out of the question.

"Of anyone, I never thought you'd think me weak, Gintoki," Katsura says and draws every word out, careful and clear. Gintoki rolls his eyes at that and sticks a hand in his messy hair, running slender fingers through it that get caught in small tangles. He knows Katsura is poking but the bullshitting takes too much energy. Of all conversations, he can't do it now (though the quick _that'd require me thinking about you at all_ sits on his tongue. But to go in circles with someone as stubborn as Katsura? They have a war to prepare for and an immortal to defeat. Now was _not_ the time.)

"I didn't say that," he groans and that hand falls limp at his side. He falters for a moment, eyes trailing closer to the ground than Katsura's face. But Katsura doesn't pressure him. He just waits, aware that, for the conversation to go _anywhere,_ he needs a patience that rivals Gintoki's stubbornness. "You think you could fight Him?"

"Of course." Katsura doesn't doubt his own words and he makes sure Gintoki understands that. But understanding does not equal believing, they both know that all too well. "We both trained under him, I know his sword as well."

Those seemed to be the right words - or the wrong ones, perhaps, but Katsura can't be sure. All he knows is that they flipped a switch in Gintoki's mophead. He looks up and finally meets Katsura's dark eyes. There's a spark in familiar red but not a bright one. It's dull, an ember having almost been burnt to ash. Dark, and the threat of a small gust of wind would be enough to snuff it. In a slow but fluid movement, he shifts and wraps his fingers around his bokken.

"You know his sword, do you?" Gintoki would laugh had he the strength. Instead, he just draws his weapon. "Then prove it."

Katsura should have known. He really should have. But while he didn't think Gintoki would immediately warm up to the idea, he hadn't entertained the thought that Gintoki would demand to fight over it. But it makes sense, Katsura supposes, although he'd rather not go through with this foolishness.

"Gintoki, I do not wish to fight you over this. You must understand, myself - as well as Takasugi, I'm sure - we don't want you to have to..." He pauses and bites his lip, fingers tapping the hilt of a sword he'd rather not draw. Gintoki waits but his weapon's out, his stance steady but not spread for attack. Patient but just barely. Katsura breathes and calms himself as he had many times in the past. "To go through that again."

Gintoki doesn't need to ask what Katsura's referencing, doesn't have a single doubt as to _why_ Katsura had said such words. If he had been in their situation, bound and helpless to anything but the fracturing of his own heart, he would have done the same thing.

Except, Katsura doesn't know the monster that is Utsuro, hardly even knew the monster that was Shouyou. So Gintoki doesn't sheath his sword. Instead, he raises it.

"Come at me with the intent to kill." His tone stays level and his gaze doesn't waver. Katsura flinches at the words, eyes widening and his hand flies from his sword as if it had burned him.

"What?" The word flops from a heavy tongue as he stares at Gintoki, jaw dropped.

"You need to clean your ears, eh, Zura? I said fight me." _No, you said with the intent to kill,_ but Katsura doesn't snap back with that. Gintoki had always been peculiar when it came to fights. When they were younger, the feisty kid had little to no concept of fighting _without_ killing intent. It had been terrifying; he refused to be without a real sword and he had been prone to drawing it. Shouyou had fixed that but Gintoki was a little asshole, obeying Shouyou but only barely. A constant hum of fear thrummed through them when he was nearby. Most kids couldn't get over it and some, the few that had guardians, were pulled once they heard of that demonic child.

Needless to say, he wasn't permitted to fight fellow students until he got that under control. His only release was through challengers (looking back, it was no wonder that Takasugi had grown so strong so quickly, training with the beast that was Gintoki.)

Even then, Katsura only had a vague idea of what that truly meant, to fight with the intent to _kill._ It wasn't until the war that he'd discovered such a thing. And it was dangerous, bone chilling in the aftermath of the lack of humanity that had inhabited him, even if only for a short while.

But Katsura would not fight him now. This was not up for discussion.

"And I said I would not."

He should've known better than to think he had a choice.

Gintoki doesn't hesitate and Zura only just manages to raise his sword by pure instinct. It throws his weapon in front of him and his muscles quiver under the weight that Gintoki presses. The swords rattle against each other, sharp wood clacking against worn metal. Zura leaps back, hoping to create space. They needed to talk, not fight. It wasn't honor they were after, this wasn't something to be settled by brute strength.

Except, Gintoki doesn't give him the chance to breathe. He follows right on his heels, steady and careful and his bokuto swipes again, hits heavy and a hot numbness spreads in Katsura's palms.

He hadn't fought Gintoki in a long time. Too long, apparently. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to face off against that brute strength. He wasn't the sort of person you strategized against; it would never work. He was sporadic, emotional, and his instincts had been too honed to use anything else against him.

Had Katsura not fought in that war, he'd have stood no chance.

And yet still, while his instincts howl to _attack attack, he will kill you,_ Katsura hesitates. By sheer will, he stays on the defensive. His jaw tightens and his teeth threaten to crack under the strain but he can't look away.

_I don't want to fight you._

Gintoki finally steps back. He's hardly panting and his gaze stays steady. Katsura, however, trembles, fingers flexing and eyes trained on the permed samurai.

"You want to face Him? You want to be the one that goes toe to toe with that monster? Please," Gintoki shakes his head, silver hair glowing in the setting sun. It's a sight Katsura has seen many times, although more often than not that hair had been stained a crusting brown. 

Gintoki had always been one to speak in riddles, even when they were kids. Katsura had chalked it up to Shouyou. The man was cryptic and gave them only what they needed and no more. It had worked, them being too curious and nosy.

And now it all makes sense, the questions they'd never asked having finally been answered. It was unexpected, but only barely. Only through the unnaturalness of the entire situation. It wasn't something they _could_ have guessed, but had the thought ever crossed their minds, they might not have second-guessed it.

Gintoki had said something on it once, now that Katsura had really thought of it. In their shared room, they tended to lie awake, eyes trained on the dark swirls in the ceiling above. He'd whispered the words, careful but aware that the others would be awake.

_"Sensei's not human."_

Gintoki had always been weird about that sort of thing. About humanity and demons, though immortality hadn't crossed his mind. It never had, not when he had grown up amongst the crows and the maggots where the only true promise of life had revealed itself so soon.

Takasugi had hissed something back, something in Shouyou's defense. But they also knew how Gintoki had meant it, knew he would be the last person to detest their sensei for it. But Gintoki had always known. He'd always seemed to be aware of a side of Shouyou they'd never seen. Never scared, only wary, confused on how it fit into the calm acceptance of Shouyou but no less welcome to any side the man would show to them.

A true embodiment of _love_ if Katsura has ever seen it. And that was why he couldn't let Gintoki go through this, not again.

Regardless of what Gintoki said now to deter him, he would not succeed. Not when at the end of this road lies the ashes of a fractured heart. Not when at the end of this road are only tears and a mourning that Katsura's sure he couldn't pull the man from (not alone, at least. And not without much effort, not without hours of silence beside a man who would rather hold it close to his heart. No doubt he'd simply repeat that was his decision. A choice he made. Conscious and clear and hot in it's self-hatred, boiling whatever remained and leaving them with scraps.)

"You say you know his sword?" Gintoki doesn't hiss it at him. His tone stays far too steady but his eyes, while trained on Katsura, remain distant. Lost somewhere between reality and hell, a far too thin line in Katsura's opinion. "You think you know it better than me?"

 _Oh._ Katsura should've known. It made sense, after all. Too much sense. Gintoki would bear it all, he'd bear it all _gladly_ if he wasn't certain of the outcome. If he thought that he'd have the best chance, if he wasn't sure that Katsura would win (Katsura, more than aware that doubt would lead to his downfall, hardly permits the thought that perhaps he _doesn't_ know that sword quite as well. Not as well as Gintoki, at least.)

So Katsura sets his back, straightens his resolve, and he raises his sword.

"I see. Gintoki, you should learn to use your words." Because for a second there, Katsura hadn't been perfectly certain of what Gintoki was fighting for, or why. And he'd had his guesses, guesses that brushed close to the mark even, but the man was hard to read even for him. Although, he's sure Takasugi wouldn't have had much trouble. "Fine, if it's a test you want then I will pass it."

Gintoki finally laughs. It comes out in a surprised snort, a sharp exhale of air and a quirk of his brow. Enough to lighten the mood and he lets his sword drop slightly, his head shaking and a hand going to his messy hair.

"Keh, leave it to you to make it a test, Mr. Straight-A-Student. This is _my_ test, you won't pass easy just 'cause you studied."

"I did more than study!" Katsura doesn't mean to shout. It catches them both off-guard and Gintoki pauses, eyes boring into the Rampaging Noble. Their metaphor had gotten more serious than intended but Katsura wasn't going to let Gintoki brush things off to hold everything important at bay. "I've practiced my bushido every day. And my notebooks are full. Don't doubt how studious I have been."

 _"Eh!_ Don't treat me like some teacher, you wighead," Gintoki says with a shake of his head. And if Katsura sees the weariness of his eyes lighten, if even for a moment, then it was worth it.

"It's not Wighead, it's Katsura. And you are the Senior Disciple, after all." Those words leave Katsura's tongue curling, overrun with bitterness and he fights to keep the sentence going, to not leave it at that memory on the cliff with the _true_ senior disciple that had despised them so. If Gintoki's thoughts had gone to the same place, he doesn't give it away. "It only makes sense that this would be your first and last lesson to me."

Somber, again, and the heaviness returns, tugging in thin strings that had so often been pulled many times before. So taught and ready. And so torturous in how it could leave them breathless and unsure, the sorrow rolling through them in waves of coming numbness (but it never came soon enough. That's why Gintoki turned to alcohol and Katsura to work and Takasugi - he never stood a chance at fighting it and he never tried.)

"First and last, eh?" Katsura can hear it in his voice. How thick it is, heavy in misery and lost in the folds of time, mouth almost numb in forming the words. Memories roll over them but the accompanying bitterness leaves behind hot anger and a hopelessness that spreads to their fingerprints. Such an utter loss of something that had been so sweet and kind and overwhelmingly _true._ They'd never hoped it would remain untainted, the thought had never crossed their minds that it could be ruined.

And here they were, as if on that cliff again with a decision to make. To destroy that school once and for all or to let the world end.

The answer's obvious, and yet, it tugged at them and dragged the blood from their veins, leaving a cold emptiness.

They couldn't let the world end, no, but this would certainly be the end of _their_ world. And to rebuild? That's an endeavor Katsura isn't sure he'll survive unscathed.

Gintoki snaps himself out of it first. He'd always been good at that. Not at bouncing back, he was utterly _miserable_ at that, preferring to wallow in the misery and guilt that he believed he deserved so much. But he was good at masking. Good at tugging those sharp strings and tucking them away, out of sight but no less suffocating. Just, bearable. Enough to move and function and, most of all, _fight._

So, Gintoki attacks. And Katsura raises his blade in defense but Gintoki's had _enough._ Katsura can tell. It's obvious and the chill that shoots down his spine is involuntary, the churning of his gut doesn't go unnoticed. But he tries, he truly does.

He fought in the war beside Gintoki, after all. And while he wasn't on the front lines with the Shiroyasha - that was more for Takasugi - he had fought at the man's back more times than he could count. And he knows what it means to be a hollow killing machine that could feel the splatter of blood and not blink. He knows that numb killing intent built less from anger and more from a lack of care for life.

He's also more than familiar with the killing intent born from _anger._ A hot, acidic sensation that leaves blood boiling and skin rolling, a prickling underneath the skin that washes over in waves of tense rage just _begging_ to be let out.

Katsura hadn't often let himself reach such a point. He didn't enjoy it, and, more importantly, it was unbefitting of a samurai. To remain calm and composed offered more viable options for battle

Takasugi and Gintoki were different. Takasugi could hardly ever fight without that rage. It fueled him, how Katsura had ever thought Takasugi could've turned out any other way was wishful thinking. Gintoki, however, was different. He flowed between the two so seamlessly. The boiling would simmer away as the battle raged on, waxing and waning according to its events. As if either state could act as a mental base, as familiar and comforting as his sword.

Seldom had he fought an entire battle in anger. But when he did, he controlled the field. The amanto could sense it, wary from the get-go and, upon spotting a raging Shiroyasha, more eager to flee. Those times, the man's anger was the only thing that rivaled his unpredictability. It left their ranks in both awe and fear, something that Katsura had been quick to keep controlled. He'd never wanted it to get out of hand, never wanted their soldiers to fear his old friend (he failed, and they whispered and shivered under a familiar gaze, and when Gintoki flinched it was too small and so resigned. Too late for Katsura to do more than watch.)

Seldom had Katsura been on the receiving end of _this._

So when Gintoki launches at him, he shivers and he takes a step back. He loses his footing and he finds himself a tad behind, desperate to just _block_ the hits, never mind any sort of retaliation. The blows come fast, decisive, _close._ Brushing vitals but not quite landing. And even though the sword has no blade, sweat beads on Katsura's temple and he finally looks at his face. Looks in his eyes.

And never had Katsura truly understood the moniker of _Shiroyasha._ Gintoki was Gintoki. Demonic, yes, but also lazy and stupid and a hypoglycemic fool.

His heart clenches and his lungs constrict, eyes wide and moist and he can't help a quick breath. Gintoki lands a hit and stares down at Katsura, meeting his gaze straight on. His eyes glow through his fringe, bright red and sharp. _Deadly._ Towards him. Not a hint of hesitance or a willingness to let Katsura walk out unscathed (if alive.)

And Katsura, while he had dealt with such heat and rage before, while he had fought many battles where the other wanted him to breathe his last, he never had from _Gintoki._ He'd never thought for a moment that _Gintoki_ would do so. He'd never worried on it.

Yet seeing that dark, hooded look. Feeling that boiling heat - he backs off. Gintoki follows. Swift and decisive, he chases the runaway.

And Katsura, he doesn't back down. But he falters and Gintoki, never having been one to rely purely on the sword, trips Katsura with a quick swipe of the leg. Katsura stumbles and his heart drops as he falls. It isn't far and he braces himself, but he falls and the air gets knocked from his lungs in a harsh exhale.

A bokuto rests against his throat, softly grazing the skin and as Katsura's throat constricts, his Adams apple bobs against familiar wood. He stares up at the towering Shiroyasha, words having died on his tongue long ago. He isn't afraid of Gintoki, he never would be, but he is wary.

Gintoki doesn't glare down at him for long, and after a tense moment, he backs away. The sword drops and he smiles down. It's sardonic and hollow and a wave of caving emptiness washes over Katsura at the familiar sight.

"You failed, oh studious student."

"I didn't-" Gintoki slams a boot into the mans arm. Not so hard as to break it - though he could - but enough that his fingers lose his sword and he winces. The tip of a wooden sword fills his vision and at it's end sits Gintoki. Sturdy and resigned.

Even if he had wanted Katsura to win, he'd never expected it.

"If you can't seriously attack me, you couldn't attack Him, let alone survive long enough to win."

Katsura doesn't respond and he falls limp. Numb and lost in every sense of the word. So Gintoki backs off, wary and slow as he steps away until, finally, he sticks his faithful _Lake Touya_ in his waist and reaches out a hand.

Katsura stares for a moment, eyes falling away from the man and onto the ground below. To his sword, to the remnants of their scuffle, to broken promises scattered across a battlefield that he should've won.

For being the strategist of them, he's often picking fights he can't win. Hopeful and, in the end, stuck between reality and a vision just out of his reach.

But he accepts Gintoki's hand and the man pulls him up. Defeated, he stands and only picks up his sword from its sheer importance. When he sighs, the next breath doesn't fill him and his nerves buzz at the absence of _something_ that should be there. But it isn't and Katsura' can't be sure when it will return.

"If it's the thought that counts, then you've done more than enough, Zura." Gintoki means it, Katsura knows that much. But the thought doesn't comfort him and he sags underneath a burden he won't bear. Gintoki bumps his shoulder and tilts his head, ready to head back and check in on those reckless kids of his. But Katsura doesn't move and he fiddles with the straps of his sword. Though he keeps his head up and rolls his shoulders back.

"You think you can win?" He'd heard of what had happened. Knows that Utsuro has proven to be more than immortal. So sadistically powerful with a sword so straight and a weight so heavy three warriors stood no chance.

But Gintoki had. Not that it meant he would _win._

Gintoki doesn't sigh, not audibly. But Katsura sees the man sag and how he sticks a pinky in his nose as he responds, fighting to remain nonchalant (or perhaps it isn't a fight, not like it had been in the war. Perhaps it's become a habit, so practiced and careful and terrifying in its solidity.)

"I have to, Zura. It's as simple as that." Katsura shouldn't have expected anything different but it still leaves him in an uncomfortable warmth, mouth dry as he croaks out the only response he can. The only thing he can offer Gintoki, a comfort. An oath even if he had already broken every promise made.

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura."


End file.
